


Of Hell and High Water Chapter 1

by xahra99



Series: Renaissance [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahra99/pseuds/xahra99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded in Venezia, Ezio takes a commission from the Doge- and soon wishes he hadn't. Spoilers. Completed.Fourth in a series of five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Hell and High Water

Of Hell and High Water

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter One.

 _Venezia, April 1492._

Venezia was flooded again.

The floods were not unusual. The city flooded every spring; once, twice or three times, and the Venetians had their own name for the deluge. They called it _acqua alta;_ high water. But the floods that occurred in the spring of 1492, just after the death of Lorenzo de'Medici, were higher than even the oldest citizen could remember.

The water rose from the canals and welled up through the city drains. It made a lake of Saint Mark's Square and lapped around the steps of the basilica. The Venetians crowded inside their churches and begged the saints that guarded their city to spare their houses from the rising water. Their prayers went unanswered. The waters rose. The buildings flooded; houses, churches, and then the great basilica of Saint Mark.

The Venetians cursed and moved their possessions up to the second floor. Beggars drowned in the streets outside, and the old and young died of the cold and damp.

Leonardo's workshop _did_ have a second floor, but it was not a comfortable place. Damp seeped through the stones. The air smelled of grease and linseed oil. Leonardo was a hoarder, and there was hardly enough space in the workshop even when it was _not_ half-submerged. Leonardo had squeezed his workbench in between piles of half-finished paintings, scale models and boxes of crumpled sketchbooks. A row of torn oiled-paper windows near the ceiling let in the rain and the fog, but precious little daylight. Ezio, restless as a soaked eagle in the rain, perched on the windowsill and blocked most of the light that made it through.

"Why in hell did I ever come to Venezia?" he complained.

Leonardo, who knew perfectly why his friend had come to Venezia, said nothing. He added the final touches to a sketch of the flooded Rialto he'd drawn from memory. The drawing was not perfect, but it would have to do. Ezio could run across the rooftops, but Leonardo had to make do with more prosaic methods of transport. He'd run out of money to pay the exorbitant gondoliers' fees that morning, and now he was running out of dry clothes.

He shaded the wake of a gondola into the still waters surrounding the flooded bridge.

"Damn this rain," Ezio grumbled.

Leonardo shrugged. The rain would cease. Eventually and the sun would come out. He would move his paintings back downstairs and travel back to Milano. Something would come up. It always did. "It's just rain."

"The thieves say this weather's unnatural. They blame demons and bad spirits."

Leonardo shook his head. "The thieves don't study," he said without looking up from his work. "The floods are nothing _but_ natural. Winds in the lagoon, the conjunction of the tides, storms at sea; bad engineering. This city's built upon the ocean. Of _course_ it floods."

Ezio drew a dagger from his belt. He scraped a whetstone slowly down the blade "I've bet you've got a solution for that."

"Several, actually." Leonardo told him. "We could simply raise the city. I have designed a system of flood barriers that can be raised in times of need." His pen sketched a map of the lagoon. "Here, here, and _...here_."

"You should tell the Doge." Ezio said. "Maybe he'll hire you. There's no better time to propose a flood prevention system. We're all swimming in the streets. At least Firenze, for all her faults, does not _sink_. "

"The city is not sinking," Leonardo corrected. "The sea level itself has risen."

"Who cares? We have wet feet either way."

"Wet feet are unnecessary. My scheme is ambitious, but effective. It would certainly work."

Ezio shrugged. "So tell the Doge."

Leonardo shook his head. "No point. I have a patron already. And I would not see the project completed within my lifetime even if I did. The Council are old men, Ezio. They are slow to take action. And maybe the world would be a less interesting place if Venezia did not sink beneath the waves once in a while."

"This is _interesting_?" Ezio waved a hand around the dingy garret.

"Your life would be less boring if you would do anything other than complain and sharpen your blades." Leonardo said mildly. "But you know that you are welcome here any time." He glanced ruefully around the cramped apartment. "I am only sorry I cannot offer you more hospitality."

"No matter, _amico mio_. Beggars can't be choosers. It would...not have been wise for me to stay in Firenze."

"So I heard," Leonardo said cautiously. He had heard a great many things about Ezio's confrontation with Lorenzo's eldest son. He was sure most of them were probably false. He hoped that they _were_ false. "Is it true that you defied Lorenzo's heir?"

Ezio nodded. " _Si._ Lorenzo told me once that he had three sons, one dumb, one smart, and one sweet. And _il Magnifico_ was right about so many things. It's a pity he saw fit to keep the eldest as his heir."

"The dumb son is Piero? The eldest? The heir."

"Yes. Giovanni, the second, he always seemed smarter. More like his father. But Piero was the eldest." He looked thoughtful. "I should probably have been more polite to him. I won't be safe in Firenze for a while."

Leonardo pulled out another sheaf of paper and began to draw Ezio's silhouette against the gathering dusk. "So have you decided what you'll do now Lorenzo's dead?"

"Serve the brotherhood," Ezio said. "Kill Borgia,"

Leonardo sketched surreptitiously. "Borgia may not be as easy to kill as you think."

"I don't think it'll be easy. I've tried before, remember. It will take time, of course, but I have that." Ezio blew on his blade and applied a coating of linseed oil filched from Leonardo's supplies. "Make no mistake; I will take the _bastardo_ down. It may take years, but I'll do it."

"I don't doubt it." Leonardo said absently as he drew. He hoped against hope that his subject would not move, but Ezio never stayed still for long. He stood up before the drawing was half-completed and climbed out of the window onto the roof, balancing easily on the narrow sill. He did not say where he was going. Leonardo didn't ask. He put away with his drawing regretfully-it was getting dark, anyway, lit a taper and opened a treatise on geometry.

Ezio found the night unusually quiet as he crept across the rooftops. The city's festivities had continued unabated on the first night of the flood. Noblemen and maids had giggled and kicked up clouds of spray as the water rose nearly to their ankles. On the second night of the floods, the water had deepened. The Venetians' gatherings were more somber; the music and laughter punctuated by nervous glances at the rising waters from the palazzo windows.

That night was the third night of the floods, and most people had stayed at home. Ezio glimpsed only a very few determined figures sloshing waist deep through the water. Further out to sea black gondolas cut silently through the waves. The lagoon was a deep sea-green. Fog shrouded the horizon and muffled the clang of bells across the water. Ezio slipped silently from gable to chimney pot to verandah, unnoticed and unmentioned. The mist left the tang of salt on his lips.

He felt the first drop of rainwater on his face as he paused in the shadow of a campanile to check his bearings. It began to rain; first lightly, and them with more force. Ezio was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the pigeon coop. The pigeons huddled in a soggy mess at the very back of the enclosure.

Ezio opened the coop by force of habit. He did not expect to find any messages. Lorenzo de Medici would send him no missions from the grave, and the Templars had gone to ground once again. He searched anyway. The sleepy birds cooed and shuffled in protest at the intrusion.

He was surprised to see a small white message-cylinder gleaming on the leg of one of the pigeons. The seal on the scrap of paper inside was emblazoned with the lion of St Mark.

 _When the bells strike noon tomorrow, come alone to the Ca'd'Oro._

Ezio raised his eyebrows at the theatrics, but he stuffed the note into the pocket of his doublet anyway and headed back to Leonardo's _atelier_ across the slippery roofs.

Leonardo had fallen asleep over his book, but he woke with a start when Ezio climbed in through the window. "Any news?"

"A message."

"Who from?"

Ezio shrugged. "The Council."

"The Council of Ten? Are you going to answer it? You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't, but I'm going to anyway." Ezio dug in his doublet and pulled out the message. He handed it to Leonardo, who waved it away without reading it.

"No, thank you. I don't want to get mixed up with the Council. I'm only here until these flood waters drop. Why on earth did you take it?"

Ezio replaced the note in his doublet pocket. "I'm bored."

"If you meddle with the Council, boredom will be the least of your worries. It's hard to be bored when you're in a sack with weights tied to your feet. The Ten are _dangerous_."

"They also rule Venezia," Ezio pointed out. His voice was muffled as he dried his hair with his last clean cloak. "I'd like to be able to visit one city openly. The Borgia run through Roma like maggots, and Firenze-well, you know about Firenze. I'm still welcome in Forli, but Caterina _does_ have a husband, so it wouldn't be prudent to stay there too long. I want to hear what the Ten have to say. Whatever it is, it can't be more dangerous than refusing them without even a meeting."

"Maybe." Leonardo said doubtfully. "But don't blame me when you're floating in a sack in the _Canale Orfano_."

"Don't worry. I won't bring the Council down on your head."

"I am not concerned for _myself_ , Ezio. Besides, if you bring the Council down on me I will throw you in the canal personally."

Ezio laughed. "You worry too much."

"And you do not worry at all." Leonardo retorted. "I hope you have changed your mind by morning."

"I doubt it."

"So do I. Now be quiet. I'm going back to sleep."

Leonardo was still asleep the next morning when Ezio dressed himself in Assassin's white and set off across the rooftops to the _Ca d'Oro_. It was still raining. The canals reflected the leaden skies overhead. Waves swelled and sank between the plastered walls of the houses. The grey-green water looked menacing; a far cry from its usual sparkling mosaic surface. The rooftops were still slippery, and Ezio took more than usual care.

The note hadn't contained directions, but he didn't need them. Everyone who had been in Venezia more than a few days knew of the House of Gold. The palazzo had been built years ago for the Contarini family. The Contarini had been rich. They had been powerful, and they had wanted the whole world to know it. The stones of the palazzo gleamed with gold leaf. The house had been considerably grander before the flood; but the thieves of Venezia had taken advantage of the dark nights and high waters to peel gold leaf from the facade.

There were guards on the roof; but the guards had not stopped the thieves. They did not give Ezio more than a pause. Ezio simply waited until they had sloped off into the shelter of a chimney-stack for a quick game of cards. The ornate carvings that edged the roof provided him with an excellent handhold as he swung himself down to the second floor's elegantly arched balcony.

Nobody noticed Ezio's quiet arrival.

He opened the gilded door and slipped inside the palazzo. The building's exterior was grand enough, but inside it was like many Venetian palaces in winter; cold, damp and uncomfortable. Water dripped on the floor somewhere in the distance. Draughts rattled the frames of the elegantly arched windows.

Ezio found a flight of servant's stairs in the back of the building and climbed down to the _piano nobile_.

He opened several doors before he found the Doge. The old man sat alone at the end of a long table.

"Welcome," Agostino Barberigo said quietly. He did not look around. "I doubted you'd attend."

Ezio inclined his head." _Illustrissimi signori, benvenuti_. I was curious."

"I am pleased you have accepted my invitation," Agostino said. He pushed back his chair and got up, turning to face Ezio. The Doge hadn't changed much since Ezio had last seen him. His beard was a little longer and more finely groomed; his clothes a little richer, but that was all. "I trust you had no trouble arriving? I meant to make the meeting for midnight, but my councilors are old and they insist on their sleep. "

"No trouble. Besides, any fool can infiltrate a palazzo at midnight. It takes skill to do it at midday."

The doge, a man who had never taken any exercise in his life more taxing than a gentle stroll around one of Venezia's famous walled gardens, nodded. "I would imagine that it does. I would expect no less," He beckoned Ezio towards a small door set into the corner of the room. "Shall we?"

Ezio followed him through the door into a small, wood paneled chamber. It was tiny and it was crowded.

The whole council had assembled in the small chamber. The Council of Ten were ten in name only; in practice, they numbered seventeen.

They were all old men. The patricians of Venezia waited years for their chance in office once they grasped it, they were understandably reluctant to let go. The councilors resembled richly robed skeletons. Ezio resisted the urge to cough; just in case they crumbled into dust.

Agostino lowered himself into a seat at the head of the long table. He inclined his head, his features impassive.

Ezio bowed. "My lords," he said politely. "How may I be of service?"

One of the _Capi_ cleared his throat with a noise like rustling parchment. There was no sound. The Council waited in concert for someone else to reply, with the inevitable result that nobody did.

Agostino's voice cut the silence like a knife through soft cheese. "We need an assassin."

"You speak plainly," Ezio said, surprised. Leonardo had wasted an hour of his time the previous evening before he went to sleep describing the Council's Byzantine politics in far too much detail.

"I recall that you appreciate directness," Agostino said. He glanced around at the assembled men. "Besides, this conversation shall not leave this room."

Ezio nonchalantly checked for exit routes. He berated himself as he did so. If the doge had wanted to kill him, he'd be dead by now. The Council favored silent, clean deaths. They did not shed blood themselves. Agostino had tried to kill Ezio before, yes, but only in the most impersonal way. If the doge was stupid enough to order his guards to stop anybody they saw running across Venezia's rooftops, then he deserved to lose some guards.

"There are other assassins in Venice," he said mildly.

"Yes," one of the councilors said sourly, "We know. We've tried that."

"None of them have come back," said Agostino.

"Interesting. Who's the target?"

"His name is Baltasar Tomei," Agostino said carefully. "He is from Siracusa on the island of Sicilia. At least, we believe so."

"One man? Who is he? A soldier, a thief..?' He looked around at the assembled faces. "A politician?"

"An alchemist," one of the _Capi_ said.

Ezio raised his eyebrows. He was sure that there was more to the mission than the Council were telling him, but he'd have time to find that out later.

" _Il Duce_ tells us that you have the ability to do the impossible," the _Capi_ said.

Ezio had confidence in his ability to talk or fight his way out of most things. He was not modest. He nodded.

"We want to make a deal," the _Capi_ said.

Ezio nodded again. This was what he had expected. The Venetians were a race of merchants, after all. "I'm listening."

They told him.

Ezio considered for a moment before he turned to the Council. "I accept."

Author's Notes:

I took a few liberties with the floods in this story; although Venice flooded and will continue to flood many times a year, this one's maybe a little too extreme. As far as I know, the spring of 1492 was not especially wet.

Lorenzo de'Medici died on the 8th of April 1492. Unlike his own father, Lorenzo was far more interested in politics than in banking, and Medici bank 's fortunes began to decline during his era. His son Piero was even less interested in the bank, and the Medici fortunes continued to fall under his rather ineffective rule.

Leonardo's plan to prevent the city flooding is remarkably similar to the Moses Project, a system of gates currently being installed in the lagoon.

The Council of Ten were the _de facto_ rulers of Venezia at this time. They were exactly as scary as they sound. The _Cappe Nero_ , the black cloaks, were the Ten's security force, and were especially feared.

The Ca d'Oro is now a museum, although like all museums in Venice, it's expensive. It still looks pretty good from the outside, even if its golden facade is long gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of Hell and High Water

Of Hell and High Water

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Two.

The house on the _Canale Ognissanti_ had once been rich. It was rich no longer. Most of the stucco ornaments were missing from the roof. The walls leaned out at slight but significant angles, giving the entire building an air of imminent collapse. Trees dammed the gutters and sent cascades of water down the faded pink plaster of the palazzo. More weeds sprouted from the edges of the chimney pots, almost but not entirely obscuring a thin trickle of smoke that drifted upwards from one chimney.

Ezio tried several windows before he found one that opened onto the balcony. He slid a knife-point under the catch and slipped inside.

Like the Ca d'Oro, the palace's interior was magnificent, cold and uncomfortable. The walls were lined with dusty velvet hangings. Ezio pushed a curtain aside and jumped back as it disintegrated in a cloud of dust. He checked a nearby grate and found only cold white ashes. There were no signs of more recent habitation. There were no footsteps in the thick dust that lay on the floor. Nevertheless, as Ezio crept forwards he heard something move deep within the house.

He followed the sound and his Assassin instincts further into the building; along narrow corridors and through ornate and chipped doorways. There were no more sounds of movement after the first. The suck and sigh of the floodwaters welling up from the foundations echoed eerily in the gloom.

It did not take Ezio long to find his quarry. As he followed the twisting corridors he found more signs of habitation; a broken window; hastily repaired, tracks in the dust, doors left half-open. As he descended a flight of stairs into the _piano nobile_ he saw a fan of lamplight across the bare floorboards from a door left ajar and knew that he had found his target.

Ezio drew a stiletto from his belt. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The man seated behind the desk did not look up as Ezio entered. He was the only inhabitant that Ezio could see. A candle burned on the desk at his right elbow, encased in trails of wax. The light that played over the piles of books was the only warm thing in the room. The fire in the grate had gone out.

Ezio coughed gently. His voice carried easily over the sound of the rain that hammered on the windows. The alchemist looked up.

He was not what Ezio had expected.

He had a lined, ascetic face and greying hair cut short in a soldier's crop. His dark eyes and deep olive skin betrayed foreign origins that his very Italian name took pains to conceal. He wore a shabby robe with a collar of moth-eaten fur. All in all, he was very unremarkable.

"A grand house," Ezio said.

The alchemist fingered a silver cross displayed prominently at his throat. He looked up at Ezio through heavy lidded eyes. He did not seem surprised. "Thank you. A patron's gift. He is not in the city, unfortunately, or he could have bought me out of this awkward situation."

Ezio leaned against the doorframe. "I wouldn't call it awkward."

"Really? What would you call it?"

"I don't know. Desperate, maybe." Ezio pushed the door open a little wider with the toe of his boot. "What do they call you?"

"I am Baltasar Tomei," the man said wearily. "The alchemist. Your name, _signore_?"

"I am Ezio Auditore," Ezio said. "The assassin."

Tomei did not reply. Ezio studied his face. "They say you killed a man. Is it true?"

The alchemist nodded. "Certainly. One or two, at the beginning," He shrugged. "They would have killed me otherwise. I made sure everyone knew of what I had done and how I had done it."

"How _did_ you do it?" asked Ezio.

"Poison. Theirs was a slow and unpleasant death. The other assassins the Council sent were superstitious thugs. They ran."

Ezio frowned. "Superstitious? A strange comment for an alchemist."

Baltasar cocked his head. "Have you ever met an alchemist before?"

Leonardo was the closest thing to an alchemist that Ezio knew of. "No."

"I didn't think so. Conmen and charlatans, most of us."

"You would get on well with a friend of mine," Ezio told him.

Tomei looked surprised. "Assassins have friends?"

"Some of us do."

"Hm. You are an interesting man. It is a pity that you have come to kill me, Messire."

Ezio looked around at the room. The candlelight flickered over piles of books; their leather covers tattered and mildewed. An alembic stood in one corner, in the centre of a tangle of jumbled glasswork that Ezio would not name. An astrolabe hung from the ceiling. The mess reminded him of Leonardo's workshop. "I haven't decided about that yet," he said. "The Council of Ten wants you dead. That should be enough. It's not. I don't trust them. Explain yourself."

The alchemist nodded, "Very well. The Council says that I insulted Venezia. Such a petty crime. I am guilty of course. One crime among many. As you so rightly pointed out, I have killed men, Messire. I have poisoned. I have swindled. I have cheated and gambled and blasphemed. And yet it comes to this!" He shook his head. "Pathetic."

"Go on. I'm listening."

"I merely remarked one day in the plaza that Venetians are sadly ignorant about geography and world affairs. They have grown detached from the world. As if they are mere onlookers. " He wiped his brow, although it was far from warm enough to cause a sweat. "I may have said more. I was angry and cannot remember the details. That is not such a grave insult though, is it?"

"To the Council of Ten, yes." Ezio said.

"It happens to be true, you know."

"I know."

"Then you are not Venetian?"

"I'm Florentine."

"A grand city. Venezia-" He spat on the bare floorboards. "Venezia is a painted whore, full of sodomites and assassins." He glanced at Ezio. "No offence meant."

Ezio nodded. "None taken," he said reflectively, "You are not wrong, but I believe I begin to see why the Council wants you dead. Now, _messire_ , let us talk business. If Venezia does not appreciate honesty, why did you visit?"

The alchemist looked uncomfortable. "It's not important. A personal matter. I was looking for something-"

"Did you find it?"

"That's not important." He held up a vial. "This, however, _is_."

Ezio frowned. "What's that?"

"A guarantee," the alchemist said softly. "I told you that I had poisoned men. Now I will tell you how.

It was a contact poison. Applied in very small amounts to the hangings, it is absorbed through the skin of anyone who touches them." He gestured at Ezio's gloved hands. "And through gloves."

Ezio sniffed his fingers warily. "Not the doorknobs?"

Tomei shook his head. "Too obvious. But enough talk. I have the antidote, here in this glass vial. I shall release it only on two conditions. First; that you leave this house and promise never to return. Secondly, that you will tell the Council that it is useless to send more men against me. Do we have a deal?"

Ezio glanced from the alchemist's narrowed dark eyes to the cut-glass vial and back again. He sighed. "No."

"Such a shame. It is an extremely deadly poison."

Ezio raised his left hand and threw the knife, moving so fast that Tomei did not have enough time to even draw back his hand. "It's not."

The blade ripped through the alchemist's lace cuffs and buried itself an inch deep in the wooden paneling behind him. Startled, Tomei jerked his hand back. The vial fell from his hand and shattered on the floor. "But...you-" He looked down at the shattered glass and back up at Ezio. "How did you know?"

Ezio walked forwards. He drew his sword and stirred the pool of spilled liquid and glass fragments with the tip of the blade. "You lie poorly. And your antidote smells like aniseed."

Tomei raised both his hands in the international gesture of surrender. "Mercy?" he suggested.

Ezio sighed. "You're a lucky man," he said as he sheathed his blade.

"I know." Tomei said devoutly. There were a dozen other ways Ezio could have killed him, starting with his hidden blades and ending with his bare hands, but he thought it tactful not to mention them. "You're not going to kill me?" the alchemist asked.

Ezio shook his head. "Not today. Although I might change my mind if you try to poison me again."

Tomei raised his rosary to his lips and kissed the silver cross. "Cross my heart. I promise that I shall do nothing of the sort."

"Do you want to stay here?"

"No-by the gods!" Tomei looked fearfully around the room. "The Council is hunting for me."

"I know."

"They watch this house. I dare not leave-"

Ezio glanced at the darkened windows. "Then hurry," he said. "Leave now. I'll guide you."

"Why? You work for the Council."

"I don't work for anyone. I make up my own mind. And nobody deserves to die for telling a few home truths about this damned city."

"God bless you," said Tomei, already moving. He snatched up a heavy ring of keys from the desk. "We will need these. The ground floor balcony opens onto the water. I had a gondola there," His words slid into each other with haste. "Did you see it?"

"It's gone."

"Then we're doomed."

"You're really fatalistic." Ezio said. He pushed the door open and glanced from corridor to corridor. "Even for an alchemist."

They watch the building. Always watching, the men are. I've seen them. If the gondola is missing, there is no way out." Tomei headed towards the upper floor. "I told you, we're doomed."

Ezio stuck out an arm to block the alchemist's way." Not that way." He pointed down, towards the flooded ground floor. "Can you swim?"

Tomei nodded. "I learned in my youth, but-"

"Good. Now follow me. Do you have the key to the front door?"

Tomei fumbled with the keys "The front door? But it's nearly under water." He searched through the ring until he found the right key and handed it to Ezio.

"I thought you said you could swim." Ezio headed down the staircase. Water swirled around his ankles. It was cold, and grew colder as he descended the stairs and it rose nearly to his shoulders. A chair bobbed towards him. The foundations creaked. He waded deeper and saw the studded, double-bolted front door at the end of the drowned corridor. "Is that the door?"

Tomei nodded, but he hesitated at the top of the steps. "It's raining."

Ezio smiled like a fox. "Perfect," he said, as he headed down the corridor. Clammy damp wall hangings clung to his legs. Ezio ignored them. He waded to the door and reached for the rusting bolts. They took a minute for him to move, but they gave. Ezio took a second to thank whatever gods were watching. He selected the key Tomei had shown him and fitted it into the lock. It turned. Held shut by the weight of the water behind it, the door did not open. Ezio glanced behind him. " _Maestro_ Tomei?"

The alchemist grunted as he lowered himself into the water. "You can call me Baltasar," he said as he waded down the flooded corridor towards Ezio. "Let us not stand on ceremony."

"Fine _, Maestro_ Baltasar," Ezio said, as he told the alchemist his plan. Baltasar frowned and rolled his eyes, but knowing that he had no other choice, he nodded. Ezio took a deep breath; they pushed the door open and swam out into the flooded streets.

Marco Ziani shaded his eyes with his hand and peered through the driving rain at the windows of the house on the _Canale Ognissanti._ Nothing had changed. The last interesting thing to happen had been the entrance of the Council's assassin half a day ago, shortly followed by the exit of the Council's assassin's corpse through a first floor window. Marco had sent two men to deal with it. They'd weighed the body down with rocks and sank it in the canal. Tales of the look of horror on the dead man's sunken face had already begun to circulate. Even the Council of Ten could not stop Venetians gossiping. He'd heard that they'd hired yet another man, but Marco had not seen anyone.

He scowled and spat over the parapet of the balcony. Waste of time, if they asked him, but, of course, nobody did. They should have stormed the place, dragged that damned alchemist out by force. He tugged his waxed cloak more tightly around him and yawned. It was just a pity everything was too soggy to burn.

He let his eyes drift lazily over the rippling water far below him, and scowled again.

 _What was that?_

Marco could have sworn that the main gate swung open for a moment. The movement was minute, hardly visible in the rain. The water at the base of the gate rippled. Marco slipped the oiled cover from his crossbow. He loaded a bolt. The water rippled again, but Marco saw nobody. The door swung open a little more before it swung closed and gaped open again. The shallow waves caught at the edge of the door, rocking it with each eddy. Marco blinked water from his eyes and cursed. The palazzo was falling apart. No doubt the constant movement of seawater had rusted through the bolt.

 _Soon_ , he thought, _the damn house will collapse into the sea, and the damned alchemist with_ _it_.

He slipped the cover back onto his crossbow and stared out at the rain.

It was a long swim. Ezio was unsure whether the alchemist would make it, and he wasn't sure if he was bothered either way. When the man surfaced beside him, gasping and shaking in the floodwater's harsh chill, he sighed. "This way."

"Where are we going?" Baltasar splashed in the shallow water.

"Dorsoduro." Ezio reached a gondola and hauled himself up. He cut the mooring rope with a flash of his blade and reached for the tiller. The boat rocked as the alchemist dragged himself aboard.

"The poor quarter? But-"

"I have friends there." Ezio dug the pole into the mud. "And it's safer than anywhere else."

The alchemist looked doubtful, but he said nothing else as Ezio poled them both along the twisting warren of canals that led to the thieves' quarter. Ezio could understand his trepidation. As a visitor-even a despised one-it was unlikely he'd heard anything but tall tales about the Dorsoduro from the merchants. "It's not as bad as you've heard," he reassured.

The alchemist looked even more doubtful. Ezio sighed.

They made it to Dorsoduro without incident. The canals got more crowded as they floated closer. The poor folk of Venezia crammed whole families into a single room. The flooding of the lower stories had flushed people out onto the swamped streets. They had nowhere else to go.

Ezio pulled his hood over his face and nodded at a few passersby as the gondola blended in with the crowds of water traffic. Tomei huddled in his shabby coat in the bows of the boat. He flinched as gondolas bumped against their boat and peered around at their surroundings.

The scene was chaotic.

A pair of urchins rowed a punt around in circles. People shouted from first floor windows, carrying on a conversation across the flooded street. The hitching-posts and jetties that fringed the city's borders had long since been submerged. The city folk tied their boats to the window-grilles of ground floor homes plastered in shabby tones of sepia. The monochrome streets were interspersed by startling color; the scarlet of a prostitute's sash, her breasts bared to attract customers despite the cold, the vivid emerald green of a tray of vegetables.

Baltasar frowned. "Is this safe?" He glanced around at the denizens of the Dorsoduro. "Any one of them might carry a message to the Doge."

Ezio shrugged. "They are my friends. For the rest, they do not care. They don't know you, after all."

"Your friends?" Baltasar said; surprise evident in his voice. "I took you for a nobleman."

"I was a nobleman, but that was another life. Now I am an assassin." Ezio touched the hilt of the blade at his side as he poled the boat along.

There was not much room in the boat, but Baltasar moved imperceptibly away. "It seems that I am a fortunate man." He caught his breath as they turned a corner and the great walls of the thieves' shabby palazzo came into view. "Is this it?"

Ezio nodded.

Baltasar looked impressed. It was hard not to be. The building was immense. Oil soaked torches burned brightly at the gates. Antonio had many visitors these days, and most of them did not arrive in daylight hours.

They floated up to the walls through forests of half-submerged iron railings. The thieves had removed the grille of a small window just to the left of the main gate to admit visitors. The main gate was locked and flooded. The courtyard gaped beyond, as full of water as a lake.

A thief poked his head out of the window, and Ezio hailed him with a shout. The thief's head snapped around and he grinned. It was a fearsome sight. Most of the man's teeth were missing, and those that were not missing were stumps. Gold glinted here and there in his ruined mouth. He wore a sailor's heavy earring.

Baltasar regarded the man suspiciously. "Where have you brought me? A den of thieves?"

Ezio grinned. "Thieves, wine and women," he said as the prow of the gondola bumped against the house walls. "Well met, Bassanio. Where is Antonio?"

The thief's smile grew wider. "Inside," he said as he caught the rope Ezio threw him. "Dry off and come in. Who's your friend?"

Ezio climbed through the window easily. "It's not important."

"Oh, like that, is it?" Bassanio grinned widely at Baltasar, who did his best not to recoil as he followed Ezio indoors. "A thief, is he? A spy?"

"A poisoner." Ezio said dryly.

Bassanio withdrew the hand he had been just about to offer to Baltasar. "Oh. Well, any friend of Ezio's is welcome here." He clapped Baltasar on the back instead. "Come inside."

Baltasar ducked under the window and followed Ezio into the thieves' palazzo.

Author's Note:

 _Piano nobile_ : first floor. The ground floor of Venetian houses was used mainly for storage.

The _'city of assassins and sodomites'_ comment came from a quote made by a fifteenth-century visitor to Venice and referenced in _'Venice; A Pure City'_ by Peter Ackroyd. It's a great book.


	3. Of Hell and High Water Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of Hell and High Water

Of Hell and High Water

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Three.

Ezio knew exactly where to find Antonio. Beckoning Tomei to follow, he turned left around the raised marble gallery, nodding greetings to a few thieves as he walked. The thieves recognized a comrade in their lifelong quest to make the Serene Republic a little less serene and nodded back. Antonio's office was in the far left corner of the gallery, with a good view out over the lagoon.

Ezio pushed the door open.

The office was larger than the room Antonio had had in the thieves' old den, but it was just as crammed with books. He put down his pen as Ezio pushed the door open. "Greetings, Ezio."

Ezio smiled. "Antonio. Good to see you."

"And you, Ezio, as ever. Who's this?"

Ezio bowed. "May I introduce Maestro Baltasar Tomei?"

Tomei fur robes dripped on the floor as he copied Ezio's bow. " _Saluti_."

Antonio got up from behind the desk. "Ah. So you're _L'Alchimista_. The one everyone's been talking about." He held out a cup. "Chocolate?"

Baltasar glanced at Ezio. The assassin shook his head imperceptibly. "No. _Grazie mille_ ," he added hurriedly.

Antonio put the cup down. "A shame." He glanced at Ezio, who was busy wringing out water from his sodden cloak. "Ezio _, un momento bravissimo_. I must speak with you." He turned to the alchemist. "I'll send someone to bring you dry clothes."

" _Grazie, messire_ ," Baltasar said between chattering teeth.

Antonio nodded politely. "Ezio, this way," he said, and drew the assassin to the side.

Ezio looked wounded. "Don't I get dry clothes too?"

"In a minute," Antonio said. He lowered his voice. "Are you _mad_?" he hissed.

"No more than usual."

Antonio glanced at the alchemist, and then back up at Ezio. "This man is wanted by the _Council_ , Ezio. The Council!"

Ezio held up his hands. "Antonio. I know you're no friend of the Council-"

"Friend?" Antonio shook his head. "No. But neither are we enemies. The Council tolerates us, Ezio, because we keep order among the poor and we don't cause trouble. We limit our activities to rich foreigners these days. In return, the Council lets us live here in peace. They're more concerned with taxing nobles, anyway." He gestured at the sodden alchemist. "Until we catch their attention."

"I-"

"This changes things, Ezio. The Doge's goodwill will only stretch so far."

" _Per favore_ , Antonio. It's only for one night!"

"One night is more than enough to get us into trouble! Do you want to end up in the Leads? Or worse-the Wells?" He named the infamous sunken prisons of Venezia.

"The Wells?" Ezio asked skeptically. "They'll be under water in this flood."

"And the Council will still put you in them!"

The sharp tone of Antonio's voice drew Baltasar's eyes. Antonio threw an arm around Ezio's shoulders and gestured him outside, away from Tomei. They stood on the covered balcony outside and watched raindrops splash into the flooded courtyard below.

"The alchemist seems like a good man," Ezio said eventually.

"He's a _foreigner_."

"He's from Siracusa." Ezio shivered. He plucked at the wet fabric of his doublet. "Now, about those dry clothes-"

"He's a _Sicilian_? That makes him foreign."

"I thought Venetians were supposed to be cosmopolitan, Antonio."

"Not poor ones." Antonio stroked his velvet doublet.

Ezio rolled his eyes. The thieves had definitely gone up in the world since he had first encountered them. "You're not poor. And Sicily's not foreign."

"It's far enough away that it might as well be! I'm cautious, Ezio. We have to _live_ here. You can leave. You have Monteriggioni. And the Council-they will be watching the boats. We'd have to be very careful to smuggle him out."

"One night?"

"One night. As a favor."

" _Grazie mille_ , Antonio."

"Thank me when this is all over. Now let's get inside before you freeze to death." Antonio turned back to the office.

The alchemist was hunched over by the fire. He looked around as the two men entered. Ezio gave him a reassuring grin that made the alchemist look even more concerned. Antonio picked up his chocolate from the desk and toasted the alchemist wryly. "You are a lucky man _, messire_."

"I know," Baltasar said fervently. "You have my gratitude."

"Save it." Antonio took a deep drink. "I don't suppose you have any coin?"

"Antonio-" Ezio interrupted.

"I jest. Now, about those dry clothes-" He looked up from his cup as a cowled figure entered with a sack. "Here they are."

The bearer of the sack pushed back her hood. She ran a hand through her short dark hair.

"Rosa!" Ezio said, delighted.

The thief's eyes danced wickedly. "Indeed. Ezio!" She looked him up and down. "You are wet," she said, in a voice that was far from disapproving.

Ezio grinned. "And you are right for once."

She cursed and punched him."And I was going to offer to help you out of those wet clothes. What a pity. You have just missed your chance." She dug in her bag and tossed them both a parcel of dry clothes. "You will just have to do it yourself."

The alchemist clutched the clothes to his chest. "A woman?" he said incredulously.

"Indeed." Rosa said, "Have you got a problem with that?"

"Indeed not." Baltasar shook his head. " _Grazie, bella signora_."

Rosa grinned. "That's good. _Bella_? I like that, too. I like this man, Ezio. You could learn from him. He is not afraid to give a lady compliments."

Ezio regarded the clothes critically. They were a far cry from Assassin's whites, but they were clean and dry, and that was all that mattered. "I would-if I saw anything to compliment."

" _Bastardo_ -"

Antonio held up one hand to stall the fight that would surely follow. "Rosa!" He turned to Ezio. "Ezio. Be quiet." Argument quelled, he addressed the alchemist."Very well. You may stay for one night only. You should spend your time praying that these waters will fall for long enough to you to hire a boat out to the islands."

Baltasar shook his head wearily. "Then I'm afraid I can't accept."

Ezio raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What?" Antonio repeated, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It's not that I am not grateful for what you've done," the alchemist said hurriedly. "I am. Truly. But I cannot go. Not yet. Not now."

Rosa frowned. "Whyever not?" She stood hip-shot with the sack over one shoulder and looked quizzically around at the small group.

The alchemist looked crestfallen. "I cannot go." He turned to Ezio. "When you asked me in the palazzo why I came to Venezia, I told you I was looking for something. That was-' he swallowed-"not wholly a lie. I am looking, not for something, but rather for some _one_."

"Who?" Ezio asked.

"My daughter," Baltasar whispered wretchedly. "I'm looking for my daughter. They took her."

Ezio frowned. " _Who_ took her?"

"A nobleman. A Venetian. An _Immortali_." He named one of most prominent Venetian men's clubs. "But that is not half the tale. I do not think he knows what she is. Else he would not want her,"

"Knows?" Ezio asked dangerously. "Knows _what_?"

The alchemist sighed again. He touched the silver cross at his throat and glanced pleadingly from face to face as he continued. "I hope that none of you share the common prejudices of your countrymen." His voice was dull and not hopeful at all.

"Which prejudice do you speak of?" Antonio asked wryly. "We have so many."

"I am a Jew." Baltasar confessed reluctantly. "Even poor Christians look down upon the Jews."

Rosa looked nonplussed. "Is that all?"

Ezio shrugged. "Well, it does not signify. I am more interested in why you did not tell me the whole truth to start with-"

Antonio cut the assassin off with a gesture. "My colleagues here are right, for once," he said. "Your religion does not matter. We are men of science here-"

Rosa coughed. "A- _hem_."

"My pardon," Antonio corrected. " _I_ am a man of science. Rosa here is a godless heathen-"

"I am not a _man_ of anything. I am a _woman_ -"

"And my friend Ezio is an assassin and believes in nothing he cannot kill-"

"That is not true." Ezio said.

Baltasar looked at them all disbelievingly. "You all know of the ghetto," he said cautiously.

" _Certamente_." Ezio said. "The houses are close together there, and very tall. They are easy to climb. A good lookout spot."

"Then you know that all Jews in Venezia are confined to the ghetto after sunset by law. And that they have to wear a red hat." He gestured at his bare, graying head. "I –we-have lived in disguise for years. I practice my religion in secret-it is no life, but Jews are not allowed to enter many trades. I am certain that my daughter's captor does not know what she is. She will most certainly be disgraced once she discovers the truth."

"A Sicilian and an alchemist and a Jew as well," Antonio said slowly. He looked over at Ezio. "You have strange friends."

"Indeed." Ezio said.

Antonio turned to the alchemist. "So. A Jew. Yet you wear a cross." He gestured at Baltasar's necklace. "Why is that?"

Baltasar touched the pendant. "I find it helps to reassure my clients."

"Does it work?"

"Sometimes." The alchemist's mouth twitched wryly. "At present, unfortunately, I have no clients, and so it does not matter. Neither do I have a daughter." He looked around. "Enough talking. Will you help me?"

Silence fell in the room. Antonio frowned.

Rosa fidgeted. "I do not see why _not_ -" she said. "Ezio-"

"Rosa-" Antonio said reprovingly.

Impulsively, Ezio bowed. " _Si_. Messire, I will rescue your daughter. And I will help you leave the city."

"I told you he would help," Rosa said triumphantly. "Ezio, you are a soft-hearted _fool_ -"

Antonio coughed, "I think it was the mention of the daughter that sealed the deal," he pointed out.

"It was not." Ezio said, uncomfortably. "I am simply bored."

"If you want a woman, Ezio, you only have to _ask_ -"Rosa teased.

" _Fare silenzio_!" Ezio turned back to Baltasar. "Tell me. Who has taken her? You said he was an Immortali."

The alchemist nodded. "Yes. A nobleman's son named Carlo. Carlo di Contarini."

There was a sudden silence. The Contarini had built the House of Gold. They were rich and they were powerful, and they made bad enemies. Ezio nodded and concluded that pissing off the Contarini paled in comparison to antagonizing the Council of Ten. "I'll do it."

"They are a rich family." Rosa said uncertainly.

"More importantly, the patriarch of the family is a _Capo_ of the Council." Antonio warned. "Tread carefully, Ezio."

Baltasar turned away, as if he could no longer bear to meet their eyes. He took hold of the window grilles and rested his forehead against the rusted bars. "Find her, Ezio," he said without looking up. " _Per favore_! I will give you anything you wish for. But there is one condition. I must go with you when you find her. I must confront him. Ask him why..." His voice trailed away. The thieves watched with sympathy. "Why he has taken her."

"I would imagine the obvious," Rosa mused softly.

" _Zitta_!" Ezio hissed.

Rosa subsided into silence. The alchemist, who thankfully had not heard, continued his lament. "We were trading in La Spezia when it happened. She took nothing, left no note. I must find her!"

"Don't worry," Ezio said softly. "The Immortali, eh? You're sure?" He recalled his own time in the street gangs of Firenze, years before. Firenze's gangs of noble sons were pale imitations of the Immortali, whose revelries frequently erupted in blood. "You're sure of the name?"

The alchemist nodded. "I am sure. Carlo di Contarini. _Bastardo_! I have heard his name. I am sure."

"Can't you just poison him?" Ezio asked.

Baltasar's head flicked up and he stared at Ezio for a few long seconds before he realized it was a jest. "I am sorry for that," he said. "But I thought that you had come to kill me."

Antonio frowned. "You were meant to _kill_ him?" he asked the alchemist.

"It's a long story," Ezio said diplomatically. "Suffice it to say that I left Firenze after a misunderstanding with de Medici's heirs. When the Council made contact with me I thought it best to avoid antagonizing the rulers of yet another city." He shrugged. "I agreed to kill the alchemist. But it cannot be helped."

"You are an idiot." Rosa said. " _Cretino_. You are far too soft hearted for a proper Assassin."

Ezio shook his head. "Rest assured that I am exactly soft hearted enough," he said, changing the subject. "Now, how about giving us some peace? I want to get out of these wet clothes as soon as possible."

"I'll help." Rosa laughed at Baltasar's suddenly frozen expression. "Do not look so worried. I was not offering to help _you_."

Ezio smiled, " _Cara mia_. I have missed you dearly, but I fear that your hands are not gentle enough for me. Besides," he added, "I would worry that you would slide itching powder into my clothes. Or steal my money."

"You are not rich enough for me to bother! I would not waste my time!" Rosa tossed her hair and sashayed out. "Let me know when you are leaving. If your plans go as well as they usually do, Ezio, you may need another knife."

"I would not call on you if I was desperate," Ezio shouted back.

Rosa slammed the door behind her.

Antonio sighed. "I'll send men out to find this Carlo," he said. "Find out what his plans are."

" _Grazie infinite_ ," Baltasar said eagerly.

Ezio inclined his head. "You have my thanks, old friend," he told the thief.

Antonio scowled. "Do not thank me," he said. "I told you one night and I meant it. The sooner you find the daughter, the sooner you will be gone. It is too dangerous for you to stay longer."

"I owe you," Ezio said.

"For now," Antonio replied. " _Di niente_. I have a feeling that the scales will measure up before too long. And you have done enough for me."

"Even so."

"Even so. I will have someone show you to a room while we are waiting for news. I'll not go with you, but I think I will have trouble stopping Rosa."

"Rosa is just trouble."

"Rosa is...Rosa." Antonio shrugged. "And she may be right. You may need her knife."

The alchemist shook his head. "It will not come to knives."

"Don't be so sure." Antonio said. "You have Ezio, after all. He attracts trouble like a merchant's fat purse attracts thieves."

"Don't listen to him," Ezio brushed away the alchemist's doubts. "He exaggerates. We will find your daughter. There won't be any trouble." He studied Baltasar's face and was relieved to see that the alchemist looked convinced. _Sometimes I even convince myself_. "We'll rest then, for a while. As soon as you hear from your men, Antonio, send word."

The thief nodded. "Do not doubt it."

The gap-toothed thief, Bassanio, showed Baltasar to one of the guest rooms. The alchemist looked uncertain but he went along readily enough. Ezio brushed off the offer of an escort and climbed the stairs to the attic room the thieves usually left empty for him.

He checked all of his weapons out of habit before he sat down. They were all in good order except for the gun concealed in his bracer, which had suffered from its dousing. Ezio cleaned it out with scraps of straw from the mattress.

 _Hmm. I will have to ask Leonardo about waterproofing_.

When the gun was clean he sat down on the itchy straw pallet and gazed out the narrow window at the clouds and rain. _Baltasar Tomei. L'Alchimista. A curious man._

He yawned and settled down on the pallet.

 _Well, I was complaining of boredom. I should have known better than to tempt the fates_.

The rain beating on the oiled cloth window lulled him off to sleep.

Author's Note:

I think most of the Italian in this is self-explanatory. A few exceptions:

 _Fare silencio_ : be quiet

 _Zitta!_ : Shush!

 _Di niente_ : It's nothing.

You can still visit the Ghetto in the Cannaregio district of Venice. The Jews had to wear a red hat and live in the Ghetto, where they were guarded by Christians and had to pay for the privilege. The scary thing is that Venice was relatively liberal compared to many other places (most other places) in that period. Mind you, the Council was merrily stitching the ordinary citizens of Venice into sacks and throwing them in canals at the dead of night as punishment, so it's all relative.

The film of the Merchant of Venice starring Jeremy Irons and Al Pacino is set much later than this story, but I'd recommend it nonetheless.


	4. Of Hell and High Water Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of Hell and High Water

Of Hell and High Water

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Four.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Baltasar asked uncertainly as Ezio poled the gondola up to the building.

Ezio could understand his dilemma. The palazzo seemed an unlikely place to find a young playboy's Jewish mistress. It glowed like amber against the darkness of the waters. Floating lanterns drifted with the tides along the canal. The sounds of lutes and tambours wafted over the water. The inhabitants of the palazzo had evidently consigned the floodwaters to hell and continued with the endless round of parties that made up the social life of rich Venetian nobles. He pushed a lantern away with the gondola pole. "Antonio's not often wrong."

Rosa snorted. She sat neatly in the bows, dressed in a padded velvet doublet with tarnished brass studs and a pair of boy's hose. Her dark hair was piled under a matching velvet cap. There were gold buckles on her shoes. Ezio and Baltasar wore the same sort of disreputable finery. The assassin had insisted on dark outfits. The thieves had provided them.

Baltasar glanced at the palazzo. "We're almost there."

Ezio looked up at the glittering windows of the palace and changed his course. They slipped around the corner of the building without anybody noticing. Ezio moored the gondola to a now-useless drainpipe that ran down the wall in the cover of a balcony.

Rosa stretched. "At last," She yawned and rubbed her breeches. "I don't know how any of the nobles manage to travel in these damn gondolas. The seats are as hard as stone."

"You could have poled." Ezio told her.

"That's man's work." Rosa waved a negligent hand. "What now?"

Ezio looked up at the black-painted wooden floor of the balcony. "I'll go up. Have a look around." He dug under a seat and produced an angular white mask of the kind the Venetians called a _bauta_.

"You'll bring her down to me when you find her?" the alchemist asked eagerly. His hands, white-knuckled, gripped the dark boards of the gondola. He had sketched a brief picture of his daughter's face with enough accuracy that Ezio was reasonably confident that he could at least locate the girl.

Ezio nodded.

" _Andare a vedere_. Go with God."

Ezio pulled the mask down over his face. He swung a pack over his shoulder and began to climb. The stones of the palazzo had been let rough for decorative purposes. In the damp dark night, the construction made climbing much easier.

Ezio climbed to the roof. The wide expanse of tiles was empty. Far below him he saw a pair of figures on the very balcony that he had just climbed past. The balconies would be crammed full of revelers on hot summer nights. But it was springtime, and cold at that. Most nobles were enjoying the hospitality indoors where it was warm.

Ezio paused for a moment while he listened for pursuers. He heard nothing, but it was hard to be sure over the music. He waited a few more minutes. When he was certain that nobody had heard his stealthy progress he began to climb methodically down again. He paused beside each window to search for Baltasar's daughter.

The top floor belonged to the servants. Ezio spent less time there. If Baltasar's daughter really _was_ at the party, it was unlikely that she would be found within the kitchens. Light gleamed from copper pans. The servants worked busily, shouting commands and telling jokes. Delicious smells drifted through the half-open windows. Ezio circled the windows, moving his hands carefully from ledge to window-basket to rough brickwork. When he was sure that there was no sign of the girl, he moved down.

The _sala_ on the second floor were the busiest of the house and hence the most difficult to search.

The glittering lamps that burned so brightly within the corridors dazzled Ezio's eyes. The gleaming silk-skirted nobles seemed like phantoms from a dream. The nobles themselves wore no masks. The servants did. It was a common Venetian custom, designed to prevent unsightly pox scars or a servant's missing tooth from soiling the air of decadence and luxury. It was a custom that Ezio was devoutly grateful for. Any noble that was sober and observant enough to notice might mistake the mask for a servant on a balcony outside the building, or even a spirit.

He snorted _. Likely they will be too drunk to notice. As I would be, in their position._

Even so, Ezio took care that nobody saw him. He crept like a ghost around the building, finding easy purchase for his hands on the ornate decoration that circled each large window.

There was no sign of the dark-haired beauty that Baltasar had depicted in his drawing. There were a hundred other women, beautiful, average and just plain ugly, their cheeks pale with rice powder, their hair piled high. Baltasar's daughter was not there.

 _Or if I am really unlucky, she's in the powder room and I have just missed her._ Ezio thought as he looked down. The boat with Rosa and Baltasar floated invisibly in the murk below.

He headed down again; to the first floor. The rooms there were just as ornate but les heavily populated. Balconies circled the building, but they were empty. All except one; the balcony that Ezio had climbed past on his way up the building. The couple he had passed on his way up to the roof was still there. Ezio rested his boots in a thicket of half-dead wisteria and peered down at their faces. The man's was unremarkable. The woman's-

 _Merda!_ Ezio thought as he saw the girl's face. He had just found Baltasar's daughter.

 _And she is nearly identical to Baltasar's drawing. Nearly, but not quite._

The woman in the sketch had been plainly dressed. This girl glittered with baubles. She seemed so engrossed in the charms of her paramour that Ezio could have reached down from the arbor and stolen the jewels from her hair without her even noticing. Her partner's face was not familiar, but Ezio assumed that Baltasar's daughter's paramour would be the same man that had stolen her from the port.

He climbed from the arbor without breaking a single wisteria branch and spidered down the brickwork to the side of the balcony. The balcony was lit by four candles; one at each corner. One of the candles had fallen over and spilled white wax all over the rim of the balcony, which thankfully had been too soggy to burn. Three flames flickered in the wind. The light gleamed off the crude lock on the balcony door.

Ezio balanced on the balls of his feet. He walked his palms slowly up the brickwork. When he was certain that his balance was secured he took a minute to breathe on his chilled hands. The girl giggled to his right hand side, and he prayed that she would not look around.

She didn't.

Ezio waited until the couple had their backs to him before he pulled himself smoothly up over the balcony sill. He landed on the wet boards without a sound and flicked the lock closed. Heavy velvet curtains had been pulled closed over the door to give the couple some privacy. Nobody would notice. They would not be disturbed.

Ezio flicked his wrist. The hidden blade scraped softly as it sprang open-rusted up, like everything in Venezia this spring. But he was lucky. The sound did not alert the couple. They stood with their backs to Ezio, the perfect targets. The Assassin wished that all of his contracts were so unobservant. He crept up behind the man and placed the blade against his neck.

The young noble gasped and dropped his wineglass. It fell from the balcony and vanished into the water without a sound. Ezio heard a curse from below, quickly muffled. _Rosa_ , he thought, and slid a gloved hand across the man's mouth to stifle his shouts.

"Carlo di Contarini?" he asked pleasantly.

The man nodded. He moaned, or tried to say something, but the sound was muffled beneath Ezio's hand. The sound of lute music drifted incongruously from the rooms behind them. The girl took a deep breath.

"Don't scream," Ezio said without taking his knife from the man's throat. It occurred to him that this might not be the most effective threat if Contarini really _had_ kidnapped her, but it seemed to work.

Baltasar's daughter glared at him. "I wasn't going to scream," she said.

"Good." Ezio said, relieved. He peered over the balcony and saw the boat below; a bobbing darker shadow in an ocean's worth of dark water. "There's somebody who wants to see you."

The girl followed Ezio's glance. She picked up her skirts, set her own glass daintily on the balcony railing and peered over." "Father!" she said, and immediately glared back at Ezio where he stood with his blade at di Contarini's throat. "I should have known! Let him go!"

There was a scuffle from the boar, a cry of "Rivka!" and a curse from Rosa. " _Vaffanculo a lei, la sua moglie_! Get back here, you stupid bastard!"

Ezio, nonplussed, checked di Contarini for weapons and shoved him away. The young noble retreated to the opposite edge of the balcony and glared at Ezio while Baltasar's daughter dabbed at his neck with a silk handkerchief.

"Don't waste your time." Ezio told them both. "I didn't cut him."

Rivka grabbed di Contarini by the lapels of his embroidered jacket and kissed him. Hard.

Ezio, no stranger to passionate kisses himself, raised his eyebrows. When the kiss didn't seem to be ending any time soon he risked a look over the balcony and saw Baltasar's startled face. The alchemist had managed to climb half way up the wall. He looked desperately up at Ezio. "Help me up! Please! I must see her!"

Ezio shrugged and extended his hand. By the time he had helped the alchemist up onto the balcony, the pair had finally broken their kiss. Ezio was glad about that. There were some things a father just should not have to see.

"I don't believe this," Rivka said bitterly as her father rose like a moth-eaten triton from the waves." _Mannaggia la miseria_!" She threw up her hands and tugged at the thick strand of black pearls that hung around her neck. The necklace broke, scattering priceless pearls over the balcony. Baltasar's daughter did not spare them even a glance. "I came to Venezia to get away! I did not think _you_ would follow me! Much less that you should hire thieves and brigands-" she glared at Ezio," to do your bidding!"

"I am not a thief or a brigand," Ezio said, offended, "I am an assassin."

Rivka's eyebrows, already raised, rose even higher. "You've hired him to _kill me_!"

Ezio, realizing too late that Baltasar's daughter shared her father's dramatic streak, shook his head. " _No di certo_ ," he said with dignity.

"Rivka!" her father exclaimed with equal parts exasperation and anger in his voice. He turned to Ezio. "Rescue her!"

Baltasar's daughter sighed and stamped her foot. " _No_!"

Ezio shook his head. "She does not look like she needs to be rescued," he pointed out.

"I _don't_ want to be rescued!" Rivka said plaintively. "I love him."

"And I her," di Contarini pointed out, glad to get a word in edgeways.

Ezio sighed. He thought that it was a pity the curtains had been drawn across the window. They could have sold tickets to the unfolding drama. He turned to the balcony and peered down at Rosa. Hr face was a pale blur against the water.

"Are you ready?"' she hissed. "Madonna! That cretino! I could not stop him!" She shaded her eyes against the light beaming down from the windows high over her head and whispered, "Where's the girl?"

Ezio shook his head. Rosa cursed as he drew back over the balcony and turned once more to the battle of words.

"You are not married?" Baltasar was shouting at his daughter.

Carlo di Contarini shook his head. "I've been betrothed since childhood. A marriage of convenience only. This lady owns my heart."

"I'll be his courtesan." Rivka said defiantly. "After all, the family line passes through me by Jewish law. Or would you rather see me become a _convertire_ instead?"

Baltasar shook his head mutely. He glared at the young nobleman who held his daughter in his arms. "You've ruined her!"

"He has taken nothing from me which I did not wish to lose!" Rivka shouted.

" _Merda_! You stupid girl! lose your mouth!"

Ezio pitched his voice to carry easily above the argument. "If you insist in quarreling here, keep your voices down. Someone might hear."

"You...you have heard her!" Baltasar stammered. "She is not in her right mind. Take her!"

She sounds like she knows what she wants." Ezio pointed out. "I only abduct women if they want it. Besides, you did not tell me this."

"I did not know!"

Ezio looked at Baltasar's daughter. Rivka raised her chin haughtily. "He did not," she confirmed. "I left without a trace. My father has taught me well to hide my tracks."

"Not well enough, it seems," Baltasar said wryly. He gestured at the glittering lights of the palazzo. "I did not raise you for _this_."

His daughter lifted her eyebrows. "Then what did you raise me for? I trailed behind you for years. We never stayed anywhere for long! We moved all the time. I learned how to mix a hundred compounds, but I never had a friend until now!" She looked up at Carlo and a smile curved her lips. "Or a lover."

"I should think not!" the alchemist exclaimed. He looked over at Ezio for backup.

Ezio, veteran of a dozen bedtime conquests, avoided Baltasar's eyes. "You have a choice. You can stay here and shout, and the Council of Ten will find you...and probably your daughter. Not a course of action I'd recommend."

"My father is on the Council!" Carlo said hotly. "They would not dare-"

"Wouldn't they? Would you stake your life on it? Would you stake _hers_? You're breaking the law!" Ezio snapped.

The young noble looked suddenly doubtful. He hugged Rivka closer.

Ezio turned to Baltasar. "Or you can leave the city with me- and your daughter stays here."

"I am not leaving!" Rivka said defiantly.

Carlo kissed her cheek. "You don't have to, Fiametta."

"Her name is _not_ Fiametta." Baltasar said indignantly. "Her name is Rivka! Her mother, God rest her, willed it so!"

My name is Fiametta now!" his daughter snapped. "Or would you rather me use a Jewish name in a city of Christians?"Her tone softened. "Father, I-I followed you for years. This is my choice. And I will make it gladly. Carlo loves me!"

"He'll use you and toss you aside!" Baltasar snapped.

Fiametta raised her chin. "I'm sorry."

"You have made your bed. I will go if that is what you want."

"I will look after her. And our child. I swear!" Carlo interrupted eagerly.

"A child?" Baltasar asked dubiously.

His daughter saw her chance. "Will you give us your blessing? Will you give your grandchild your blessing?" She placed her hand, fingers spread, on her flat stomach.

"A child born in sin," Baltasar said, without any real heat.

Ezio shook his head. "Children are sinless."

Father and daughter shared a long look. Baltasar's anger drained away like water through a sieve. He turned to Carlo, "If you..." He paused and spoke with emphasis. "If you put her aside without recompense, then you will pay. I will plague you..."

"If you put her aside _, I_ will be waiting," Ezio murmured."Look, you can send her letters. But for now we must be going."

" _Certamente_!" Rosa called damply from below.

Fiametta looked up at her lover, and back at her father. "Carlo has set me up in my own house on Calle Righetti," she said. "You can write to me there. Or I will write to you, if you prefer it."

"I travel around, as you well know." Baltasar said. "If you write, address your letters to the old house in Siracusa. Send me word when the baby is born." He looked up at Carlo. "Mind my words, _bastardi_. Mind them _well_."

The nobleman nodded. He cradled Fiametta in his arms and watched as they climbed down the wall of the palazzo to the boat. Ezio managed the climb with effortless grace, Baltasar less so. They boarded the gondola to a torrent of Rosa's questions and sailed off into the gloomy night.

"Curious," Leonardo said when Ezio told him of the night's happenings the next morning. "It'd make a good play."

Ezio shrugged. "That's _amore_."

"The path of true love never does run smoothly," Leonardo said wistfully.

"That's more than true," Ezio agreed. He got up and began to hunt obliviously in the clutter. "Have you seen my cloak?"

"It's in the chest in the corner." Leonardo said. "Where are you going?"

Ezio opened a chest and coughed in the dust. "Ah. There is one, rather large, loose end left for me to cut."

Leonardo frowned. "What?"

"There is the simple matter of the Council."

Leonardo froze. "You're going back to the Council? You're insane. Why?" He looked up at Ezio. "The money. It's the money, isn't it? Tell me you didn't take their money?"

"I wish I could." Ezio opened a second chest. He grinned and hauled out a blue cape which clinked as it hit the floor. "Luckily I did not spend any of it. I hope that the Doge will not charge me interest on the loan."

"You'll be lucky to keep your head. If you had listened to me in the first place-"

"If I had listened to you in the first place," Ezio pointed out, "then the alchemist would have been killed, and the girl would never have found out what happened to her father. And Baltasar would never have learned what happened to his daughter, before he died."

"There is that." Leonardo conceded unwillingly. "But-"

Ezio slung on the cape. "I knew you would understand,' he called as he hurried down the stairs."Now, I must go. I have a little visit to make." Leonardo heard a splash. "And the waters are falling. I can almost use the front door now."

Ezio had a definite sense of déjà vu as he crept across the rooftops. He didn't go to the Ca d'Oro this time, instead heading directly to the Doge's palace. Once he had reached Saint Mark's Square, he climbed down and splashed through the ankle-deep water to the palace's imposing front gate.

He could have slaughtered his way to the Doge without too many people noticing, but that would be messy and unprofessional. Besides, Ezio had left all of his more obvious weapons in Leonardo's atelier. He had a premonition that the meeting might not go well.

From the look on the faces of the guards as he announced himself at the gate, he was right. Ezio waited as a messenger was dispatched to the grand apartments of the Doge. He didn't bother trying to talk to the guards. They had the sullen expressions of men who had been on guard duty with wet feet for far too long.

The messenger returned after a few minutes, and beckoned Ezio to follow him. Ezio splashed across the open courtyard and followed the messenger up the grand staircase. He had wondered if he would be shown directly to the dungeons, (and had brought a set of lock picks just in case) but the messenger led him straight to the Doge's apartments upstairs. The sky gleamed a fragile blue over the water as they trudged up the stairs.

Agostino was waiting for him. The elderly Doge hadn't bothered with the Council this time. This time, he'd brought guards.

"You have disappointed us, Assassin," he said, as soon as Ezio set foot upon the ornate carpet.

"I did. I apologize," Ezio said sincerely." And I refund your fee. In full." He tossed the coins onto the carpet. The bag rang like a challenge as it hit the floor.

"My men do not fail," the Doge said.

Ezio bowed. "Then I am not your man,"

"That is a pity, Auditore. Once you did me a great service. No longer, it seems."

"I used to be Lorenzo de' Medici's man. He is dead. I am no longer beholden to a patron. I am not beholden to you."

If the coins had been a challenge, the words were tantamount to an open declaration of war.

"That was a foolish thing to say," the Doge said.

"I have never pretended to be wise," Ezio told him.

The Doge shook his head. "An assassin without a patron is a dangerous man. I cannot have dangerous men within my city. I am sorry, Auditore, I truly am, but laws must be upheld." He stood. "You are declared anathema and outlaw. Your lands and goods are confiscated by Venezia. It gives me no pleasure to do this."

Ezio shook his head. "I have no land or goods to speak of." It was true, more or less. His estates in Monteriggioni were still registered under Mario's name.

"Down and beg mercy of the Doge," one of the guards hissed. Evidently Ezio's response was not to be expected.

Ezio shook his head. He decided that he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. "I will not kneel."

The Doge's voice was soft and old. It was also very dangerous. "You _should_."

Ezio shook his head again. "No. You should listen. Power corrupts, Agostino. Your rule has outstripped your predecessors. You have ruled wisely-so far. Should you fail to do so, rest assured that you should beware the blade in the night."

Agostino regarded him for a moment, his face utterly without emotion. Then he clicked his fingers. "Guards!"

Ezio was already moving before the last syllable had left the Doge's mouth. He saw a door open behind the doge, and knew that it led straight from the council chambers to the cells. Praying that he had his bearings right, he sidestepped the first guard, swept his cloak over his head and jumped through the third window from the left. Shards of glass scattered the carpet and jabbed through his cloak as he landed on the balcony outside in a cloud of splinters. He had just enough time to register that the coast was clear before he swung himself over the railing.

He hit the water feet first. Diving deeper, he struggled out of his boots, doublet and cloak. Arrows hissed down around him, but he had sunk deep enough that they had little force. A bodkin that would have pierced mail at any other time bounced gently off his arm. It did not even break Ezio's skin.

Ezio levered one boot off. He tugged at the other. Depth was not a problem now; he'd gone out of their range. What mattered now was speed. Strings of bubbles issued from his lips. He blew, hoping the ripples would disperse the telltale sign. It must have worked, because there were no more arrows.

The tide was stronger than usual. The swell of the waves tugged at his clothes and threatened to disorientate him. Ezio removed his remaining boot and kicked off. He held his breath and hoped he had enough air to make it to the next bridge before he drowned.

Fortunately for Ezio, he did. Even more fortunately, the current was pushing him in the right direction.

Unfortunately, once he was underwater, it was very difficult to remember that the canals were deeper than usual. He nearly brained himself on the parapet of the bridge he'd marked out as a likely hiding place. The bridge was all but submerged. A small pocket of air remained under its highest arch. Insulated from pursuit by the sheltering waves, Ezio trod water and shivered. He took a deep breath and raked the glass from his hair with careful hands. The breath caught in his throat and he hacked up lagoon water.

He waited until his skin grew soft from submersion and he had lost all feeling in his feet before he swam slowly back to Leonardo's atelier. It wasn't a pleasant wait, but it was better than dying the death of San Sebastiano at the hands of the Doge's archers. The rain had started again. There were archers on the rooftops, but Ezio kept to the shadows and they did not see him.

Ezio left the city some days later, hidden in the back of a ship Leonardo had chartered. He traveled to Monteriggioni, and waited several months before he dared return to Venezia again.

 _Finis._

Author's Note:

 _Andare a vedare_ : Come back soon.

 _No di certo_ : certainly not

Fiametta: Little Flame. A relatively common Renaissance Italian name.

 _Vaffanculo a lei, la sua moglie_ : Fuck you and your wife too.

 _Convertire_ : convert, in this case to Christianity.

Saint Sebastian is usually shown pierced by arrows (he got better).


End file.
